


A Sprig of "Devil Weed"

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Mistletoe, Nonbinary Shepard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Somebody put up mistletoe in Spectre HQ, and Anderson has to explain.Mass Effect Holiday Prompts, Dec 28: Mistletoe





	

**Author's Note:**

> man i sure do love writing stuff that's horribly self-indulgent

Anderson watched Shepard scuttle past him, a frown creasing his brow. “Shepard,” he said, “what are you doing?”

Shepard paused, pressed against a wall and gaze zeroed in on something near the ceiling a ways off. “Mistletoe, sir,” they said, as serious as if they were telling him there was a sleeping thresher maw outside.

Anderson looked up, and sure enough, somebody had hung a sprig of mistletoe in the middle of the ceiling of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance headquarters lobby. He heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. “I thought I told everyone to keep the _human_ holiday traditions to the _human_ embassy.”

“Oh, you probably did,” came a drawl from behind him, “but if anyone actually _listened_ when a councilor told them something, our jobs would be much simpler.”

He turned around to see Valern and Sparatus wandering in, accompanied by a small crestless turian toting a lifeless camera drone under one arm. “And what are _you_ doing here?”

Sparatus rolled his shoulders and tucked his hands behind his back in the kind of flawless soldier’s posture he only wished cadets could get right. “Teia needs some footage for the news. And since she’s a civilian, I’m her escort through classified areas.”

The little turian nodded and held out a hand. “Aediteia Epirian, Citadel NewsNet. Nice to meet you in person, Councilor Anderson.”

Something clicked in Anderson’s memory, and he nodded to her as he shook her hand. “You’re his wife, then. A pleasure.”

Her mandibles went as close to vertical as the joint would let them, and Anderson eyed Valern. “Are you helping?”

Valern snorted. “I needed an excuse to not be in my office. A dalatrass who hates me is supposed to call at some point today.”

“So you tagged along.”

Valern shrugged and folded his arms. “Better than talking to Linron.”

Sparatus shook his head slightly, and in the process caught sight of Shepard, still looking at the mistletoe like it had personally insulted their mother. “Shepard, what are you doing?”

“That’s what _I_ said,” Anderson said, before Shepard could respond. “They’re avoiding mistletoe.”

The three aliens shared a look, then Aediteia ventured, “If I may ask, Councilor… What’s mistletoe?”

 _“Devil weed,”_ Shepard hissed from the wall, and a few muffled snorts rose up from around the room.

Anderson shook his head. “It’s an Earth plant, ma’am,” he explained as the aliens wandered further into the room, closer to the sprig. “Old human tradition. You hang up mistletoe somewhere, and if two people are caught underneath it, they have to kiss.”

Valern arched a brow and looked at Shepard. “And what’s _your_ problem with it?”

Shepard shrugged. “I don’t like kisses, sir.”

Valern stared at them a long moment, then shook his head and left the group, wandering over to a wall of terminal screens and muttering something about _weird aliens._

Meanwhile, the two turians had been looking at each other since Anderson had mentioned kissing, and finally Sparatus shook a taloned finger at Aediteia. _“No,”_ he told her firmly, and turned to leave.

Her hand shot out to grab his wrist before he could get too far away, and she dug her feet into the floor leaning down to set her camera on the floor so she could use her other hand, too. “Come _on,_ Ierian,” she teased. “Don’t be shy!”

“I’m not doing it, Teia,” he protested, feet scrabbling for purchase against the floor.

For such a small turian, Aediteia was surprisingly strong. Either that, or Sparatus wasn’t making as much of an effort as he appeared as his wife finally hauled him back over to her and planted her hands on either side of his cowl. “Just a small one?”

“If it’s a _human_ tradition, then, legally speaking, turians don’t have to observe it.”

“Don’t give me that.” She rolled her eyes, then glanced at Anderson. “I don’t suppose you’d mind looking away? He gets shy in front of people.”

“Do you have to _tell people_ that?” Sparatus complained, his neck turning blue.

Anderson fought back a smile and turned away, putting his back to them so he was instead watching Valern talk to a gray salarian seated at the terminal wall. He was pretty sure he’d seen the Spectre before, from one of the times where Spectres reported to the full Council after a mission. Bau or something? He could’ve sworn the letter “j” was in there somewhere.

He heard some soft clicking, then Sparatus grumbled, “You’re terrible, you know.”

Aediteia just giggled, and Anderson turned back around, the two turians now gently embracing each other with Shepard making a gagging motion in the background. “Alright,” Sparatus was grumbling, “I suppose it’s not _that_ bad.”

Shepard coughed into their fist and approached. “Thanks for taking one for the team, sir.”

Sparatus grumbled mutinously, and Aediteia opened her mouth to respond…

… just as a sharp _crack_ rang out around the room. Anderson swore he had to have jumped high enough for his head to hit the ceiling, but the collision didn’t come. Instead he landed, stumbled, and took a moment to take inventory of his organs before straightening up and looking around.

Aediteia had jumped into Sparatus’s arms, and Shepard had scrunched into a ball, hands over their head. The sprig of mistletoe, surprisingly, had fallen from the ceiling, and was now perched daintily on top of Sparatus’s head.

Then there was a dry, “Nice shot.”

He turned around, and Valern’s usual dull, unimpressed gaze met him. The Spectre he’d been talking to, Bau, was changing the heat sink on a pistol. “Threat neutralized,” he drawled. “Please get back to work.”


End file.
